


Best of Wives and Best of Women

by Eliza_Peggy_Angelica



Series: A Novel of Alexander Hamilton [4]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: 19th Century, Angst, BAMF Eliza Schuyler, Canon Era, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Historical canon fiction, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, POV Elizabeth “Eliza” Schuyler, Suicidal Thoughts, To Whomever is reading this: I hope you have a nice day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza_Peggy_Angelica/pseuds/Eliza_Peggy_Angelica
Summary: Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, those fifty years, and the formation of a legacy.(Updates at least once a week.)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Angelica Schuyler & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Series: A Novel of Alexander Hamilton [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850539
Comments: 15
Kudos: 15





	Best of Wives and Best of Women

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

_July 12, 1804, New York City, New York_

Alexander Hamilton died quietly, almost noiselessly.

He didn’t give one final shuddering breath before his eyes fluttered shut, nor did he say one final tender goodbye to me. It was simply that one moment he was there and the next he wasn’t.

It was only when, across from me, Angelica let out a broken, mournful sob that I noticed that my Alexander— my vivacious, wonderful, amazing husband’s— hand had gone limp in mine.

The first thought that went through my mind was that I _didn’t understand._ I didn’t think I’d ever understand.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to rage, I wanted to sob, I wanted to demand an answer from God. I wanted to demand that he bring Alexander back to me.

Hadn’t I lost enough?

Tears slowly began to slip down my cheeks and I buried my face in Alexander’s coat, clinging to the only part of him that was still with me.

“Why?” I sobbed, still holding Alexander’s hand. Although, of course, his hand would never again hold mine, because he was dead. Gone. I’d never see him again. He was nowhere I could ever find him.

Slowly, Angelica peeled me away from Alexander, taking my hand and pulling me to her. I quickly buried my face in Angelica’s bosom, my eyes squeezed shut, as I wasn’t yet ready to face the world; a world in which Alexander Hamilton no longer lived.

“Let us go, my darling,” Angelica said quietly, leading me out of the room, away from the people who mourned Alexander with me, away from him.

Angelica placed me in the carriage and I curled into her side, trying to distract myself from my blood soaked dress.

The once white muslin gown had become a dark maroon, and, for a moment, I allowed myself to lament the loss before I collapsed into tears once more.

How could I feel anything over a dress when my husband— my wonderful, loving, inimitable Alexander— was dead?

The children slowly climbed into the carriage and I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look at my grieving, shattered children.

Instead, I allowed Angelica to place my head on her lap, her long fingers running through my hair, the familiarity of Angelica and the wails of the people in the streets slowly lulling me to sleep.

Maybe, when I woke up, I would come to discover that this was all just a horrible dream.

I wasn’t quite sure how I made it upstairs to Alexander and I’s room— although I supposed with a pang that it was only mine now— all I knew was that I had somehow made the trek up the stairs.

I collapsed onto our bed, the sheets that still smelled of Alexander, and I began to sob once more, burying my face in my hands.

It wasn’t fair. What was Aaron Burr thinking, killing my husband?

My hands curled into fists.

_Aaron Burr._

That rascal. I wanted him dead. I wanted him indicted. I wanted him to regret the day that he shot Alexander Hamilton.

The door opened and Angelica hurried in, carrying a basin of clear, cool water, a few towels over her shoulder.

Slowly, Angelica knelt at my feet and removed my shoes, then my stockings, as she’d done when we were much, much younger and so still innocent; so unaware of what our lives would be, unaware of the sharp pain of loss.

“Eliza, Mr. Church and others will come over tomorrow and look through Alexander’s will,” Angelica said, her voice cracking as she said his name. “Alright, my dear?”

I nodded slowly, although I would’ve much preferred to lock myself in my house and wither away. At least then I’d be with my Alexander.

“I don’t want to be here,” I choked out over my tears, and Angelica looked up at me, wiping my hands with the wet cloths.

“Where, Betsey?”

“Here.” I gestured to the room. “I don’t want to be _here._ I want to be with Alexander.”

It looked as if my words had broken Angelica’s heart. “Oh, Eliza,” she gasped, and I flung myself into her arms, my body shaking with the force of my sobs.

“How did he ever think that I could live without him?” I cried into Angelica’s neck, feeling as if I’d died with Alexander.

“You mustn’t die,” Angelica ordered, her voice firm, her fingers cupping my cheek. “Do you understand me? Your children need you. I… Eliza, I need you.”

I shook my head. “I can’t go on, Angelica. I can’t.”

Angelica shook her head. “Eliza, I know that you don’t believe me, but you are stronger than you know or understand. I’ve known you my _whole life._ I know you.”

I nodded, but I didn’t believe Angelica’s words. Didn’t she see that I was falling apart at the seams? Yet, despite that, Angelica seemed to believe I would be fine.

I could’ve argued with her on that, but I was _so tired,_ and I just wanted to curl up in bed and close my eyes.

I wanted to sleep, because there I could see my Hamilton.

The next morning, despite the fact that the sun was in the sky, I made no move to get up. I simply burrowed down further in bed.

I didn’t want to get up, I didn’t want to face the world, I _couldn’t_ face the world. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to be here.

I was broken from my thoughts by the door creaking open, revealing little Betsey standing in the doorway.

“Sweetheart,” I said, forcing myself to sit up. “You should be in bed.”

Betsey shook her head, running to my bed and crawling up to sit with me. “Where’s Papa, Mama? Jamie said he’s not coming back, but he’s lying.” She looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes and my chest clenched. “Right?”

I bit my lip to keep my tears at bay, pulling Betsey to my chest. Despite the fact that she shared my name, Betsey was a miniature of her father, and it about broke my heart.

“Sweetheart, Jamie wasn’t lying.” I breathed in shallowly, tears slipping down my cheeks. “Papa isn’t coming back.”

Betsey looked up at me, her little face scrunched up. “Why?” Her lower lip quivered. “Does he not want us? Was I bad, Mama?”

I let out a little sob, shaking my head. “No, baby.” I kissed her head. “A bad man did something mean. Now, Papa is in heaven with Philip, Aunt Peggy, and Grandmama.”

For surely, Alexander would be in heaven. He had to be.

Betsey shook her head. “I want Papa!” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now.”

I covered my face with my hands, unable to hold my tears back any longer. “I know,” I cried. “I want him too.”

But Alexander wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere that I could find him or ever would again. He was gone.

And I knew, as I looked down at my heartbroken daughter, too little to grasp the concept of death, that I would _never_ forgive Aaron Burr.

Alexander had, that was his God-given right, but I knew, in that moment, that I never would.

Later that morning, I found myself in Alexander’s home office, Angelica, John Church, David Ogden, Gouverneur Morris, and Nathaniel Pendleton by me.

“Mrs. Hamilton, let me begin by saying how sorry we are for your loss,” Pendleton said, clasping my hands. “Hamilton will be missed.”

I nodded stiffly, silently willing my composure to remain in place. “Thank you, Mr. Pendleton. Your kindness is greatly appreciated.”

Pendleton smiled and retrieved a packet of papers from his coat. “These are all of the papers Alexander left with me.”

I perked up at that, and Angelica squeezed my hand in reassurance. 

I forced myself to remain in my spot, despite how deeply I wished to grab the papers from Pendleton and hold them close.

To my surprise, Pendleton handed me two letters, in Alexander’s neat, unmistakable scrawl. My fingers curled around them with shaking hands.

I let go of Angelica’s hand and tore open the first one, dated July fourth. 

_This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career; to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality…_

I read on, my heart pounding and my eyes rapidly filling with tears. The realization that this was Alexander’s final message to me hit me like a slap to the face and the letters slipped from my hands and fluttered to the floor.

I watched them fall, feeling as if I was going to faint. The room felt much too small, there wasn’t enough _air,_ and I couldn’t focus on anything except the knowledge that Alexander was well and truly _gone._

Gone so fast and so quietly when he had burst into my life so slow and so loud.

He was gone, gone from me, gone from the world forever. This was his final message to me, because he was _dead._

“Eliza?” Angelica asked, her hand suddenly on my arm. Despite logically knowing her hand was on my arm, I could scarcely feel the pressure.

Everything felt so far away. 

I slammed to the floor, falling on my knees, tears streaming down my face and my hands shaking like leaves in autumn.

This year would be the first autumn Alexander wouldn’t be able to see…

I sobbed harder, my face buried in my hands.

Gouverneur Morris slowly approached me, his eyes wide. “Mrs. Hamilton, are you alright?” he asked, and I almost laughed.

I shook my head, reaching up to clasp Morris’ hands. “Please, sir, I have a request from you.” 

Morris nodded. “Of course, of course.”

I smiled sadly. “You were my beloved husband’s best friend, loved above all others. I beg of you to help me pray.” My words cut off as I let out a small cry.

“Please, sir, I beg of you to help me pray for my own death, and when I go, take care of my children.” My head dropped and I whimpered.

I wanted to _die._

_Please, Lord, reunite me with my my Alexander,_ I prayed, looking up in time to see Morris’ wide eyes 

“Mrs. Hamilton…” He trailed off, shaking his head and wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I can’t.”

I wanted to scream, and, before I could respond, Angelica grabbed my arm, pulling me up from the floor. “Come, Betsey darling. Come.”

Angelica led me from the room. Only once we were in my bedroom, did I remember. “My letters… Angelica, I left the letters in there!” Panic began to build within me and my heart was beginning to race when Angelica pressed the letters into my hand.

“Here.” She kissed my temple, tears shining in her eyes. “Eliza, you don’t really want to die, correct?”

I shook my head. “Angelica, I can’t go on without him. I _can’t.”_ My shoulders shook, and when I finally mustered the strength to look at Angelica, her eyes were wide in horror.

“Eliza, you mustn’t,” she declared. “I _need_ you. If you die, _I_ won’t be able to go on.”

I shook my head. “Angelica—”

Angelica put a finger over my lip. “No, Eliza. I need you.” Angelica wiped her eyes, intertwining our fingers. “You mean everything to me, Betsey.”

I didn’t know what to say, and was spared of answering by the door opening, revealing Anne, who was holding Little Phil.

“He’s crying for you,” Anne said softly, her eyes far away, and I was hit with the urge to cry once again.

Instead, I took Phil in my arms and kissed his cheek as he whimpered. “Thank you, darling.”

Anne nodded absently. “Papa is dead,” she said, not a question but a statement.

I nodded and Anne hummed, exiting the room, her skirts swishing as she did. I watched as the door closed behind her, tears slipping down my cheeks as I did.

The Bible said that God was just, but what just God would do this?

“Heaven can preserve me and I humbly hope will but in the contrary event, I charge you to remember that you are a Christian. God’s Will be done. The will of a merciful God must be good.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 07/10/1804

Alexander Hamilton was buried on July fourteenth. That whole day, guns fired from the Battery, church bells rang, ships in the harbor flew their colors at half mast, and the people of New York City wore black armbands.

The whole time, despite my gratitude at the outpouring of grief people felt for my darling Alexander, I wanted nothing more than for it all to just _stop._

All of the boys had decided to be in the funeral procession, which marched from Beekman Street to Trinity Church, where Alexander was to be buried. 

I, on the other hand, holed myself up inside with Anne, Betsey, Phil, and Angelica by my side as we mourned silently.

“Why is it so loud outside, Mama?” Betsey asked, pulling on my dress to get my attention. 

I glanced out the window, where, although far from me, my dear Alexander’s body was being carried to Trinity Church.

“It’s for Papa,” I answered, running my fingers through Betsey’s hair, auburn and curly like her father. “The people are celebrating him.”

Betsey tilted her head to the side, obviously confused. “Why?”

“Because he’s dead,” Anne interrupted, her eyes far away, and I couldn’t help the feeling that she wasn’t mentally with us at that moment. “He’s…”

She suddenly jumped up, racing upstairs as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. I turned to look at Angelica, who simply sighed. 

Any hope that Anne might have improved had shattered the moment that Alexander Hamilton breathed his last, and it cut me deeper than I would’ve ever imagined.

“Betsey, why don’t you go upstairs and see if Anne is alright?” Angelica offered, as if seeing that I was a breath’s away from falling apart.

Betsey pouted, but, after I gave her as stern a look as I could muster, she puffed, crawling from my lap and toddling upstairs.

As soon as she was out of sight, Angelica swirled around to face me, wrapping me in her arms as I began to cry.

“Oh, sweet Eliza.” Angelica ran her hands up and down my back in a comforting manner. “It’s going to be okay.”

I shook my head. “No, Angelica.” I pulled away from her, wrapping my arms around my chest. “It won’t. William, Betsey, and Phil are going to grow up never having known their father. And… I… Angelica, I can’t raise seven children all on my own.”

Angelica handed me a handkerchief. “Eliza, I will always be there for you.” She moved closer to me, taking my hands. “I will always be there if you should need me. For anything. Even pecuniary assistance.”

I shook my head. “No, Angelica.” Angelica opened her mouth to speak, but I held out my hand. “Angelica, Alexander is sixty thousand dollars in debt.”

Angelica’s eyes widened almost comically. “What?”

I nodded. “Yes. I knew, of course, but I’m already in debt, and I could lose the house. I can’t be indebted to anyone else.” 

For a long moment, Angelica simply stared at me before she leaned over to kiss my cheeks. “Eliza, you won’t be indebted to me. Jack and I are happy to help you.”

Despite how grateful I felt for my sister and her unwavering kindness, I couldn’t help beginning to cry. “Oh, Angelica, you’re too kind.”

There was another bang and I wondered what Alexander would think of my accepting Angelica’s charity.

Although, I supposed it didn’t matter what he thought, as he was dead. Gone. 

And I was now all alone.

“You know how well he performed the duties of a Citizen—you know that he never courted your favour by adulation, or the sacrifice of his own judgment. I charge you to protect his fame—It is all he has left—all that these poor orphan children will inherit from their father. Disregarding professions, view their conduct and on a doubtful occasion, ask, Would Hamilton have done this thing?”

Excerpt of Alexander Hamilton’s Eulogy, by Gouverneur Morris, 07/14/1804

On August second— the day after Alex graduated from Columbia, though he did not attend the ceremony— Aaron Burr was indicted for the murder of my husband in New York. New Jersey soon followed.

With that, two days later, Angelica, the children, and I left for Albany, where I could retreat from the boisterous city and be alone with my thoughts.

As soon as we arrived in Albany and my childhood home came into view, something within me balanced.

Of course, being in Albany wasn’t enough to heal the gaping wound within me, but it was enough to make me feel something for the first time in days.

I hurried inside the house, a servant opening the door for us. “Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Church.” I smiled at her.

“Wait.” She stopped, turning around slowly. “Do you know where my father is?” I asked, and the servant gestured to the stairs. 

I nodded. “Thank you.” After taking a deep breath, I pulled up my skirts and hurried up the stairs to— what used to be— my parents’ room but was now just my father’s.

I slowly pushed the door open, revealing my bedridden father. As I looked at the feeble man in bed, I wondered how he went from the towering, intimidating man I knew from my youth to this.

“Eliza?” he asked, and I slowly approached the bed, watching as a grin blossomed on my Papa’s face. He clasped my hand. “Eliza. I’m so sorry for the loss of our Hamilton.”

I swallowed heavily, squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Papa. But nevermind that. How are you?”

Papa shrugged. “I’m fine.” I looked down at his bed ridden form skeptically as Papa continued to speak. “I should be able to rise from bed by tomorrow.”

“Well, be sure not to strain yourself,” I reminded him. 

Papa rolled his eyes, his expression growing to something mournful, putting me on edge. “Oh, Eliza, my dear daughter, how fare you?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I…” I felt a few tears trickle down my cheeks, and I desperately hoped that Papa wouldn’t notice. “I don’t know.”

Papa laughed, through there was no humor in it. “I know, Eliza. I felt the same when my Kitty died. But you came up to Albany and you cared for me, so I will do the same for you now.”

I couldn’t help it, a small sob escaped from my lips. “Oh, Papa, I don’t know how I can go on.”

Papa ran his thumb over the back of my hand. “Neither did I.” He breathed in deeply. “But I did, and you shall.”

I wasn’t sure I could believe that.

On the fourteenth of August, Papa wrote an extra document in his will that left me extra land once he passed away. For that, I was grateful.

Throughout the coming weeks, Angelica and my father were practically saintlike in their temper and patience regarding me.

Angelica held me at night as I cried and my father coaxed me outside to walk the apple orchards with him under the guise that he needed exercise for his gout and didn’t want to go alone.

Even the children were relied upon. The older boys and Anne often watched their younger siblings when I couldn’t, feeding and entertaining them. 

But, despite the support for me coming from all sides, I still found no joy in life and longed for nothing than to join my sainted husband in Trinity Church, where we could finally be reunited in death.

“Eliza,” Angelica said softly one Saturday morning, handing me a cup of tea. “How are you, my dear?”

I so longed to say that I was fine and truly mean it. I so longed to stop needing to rely on others to get through the day. I so longed to have my Alexander back with me, then all would be well.

Instead, I took the cup of tea and remained silent. Cautiously, as if afraid of frightening me, Angelica sat down at my feet, placing her hand on my knees.

“What is it?” I asked, immediately expecting the worst, although I wasn’t sure what could be worse that what I was already living through.

Angelica looked out the window as she spoke. “Tomorrow is Sunday.” Angelica fiddled with her wedding ring. “I… Eliza, I’m worried for you. Perhaps, if you think it best, you could go to Church tomorrow?”

Right as I was about to refuse, Angelica pulled on my hands. “Eliza, I’m worried for you. _Please,_ it could be good for you.”

I so badly wanted to say no. After all, if I went into the public, I’d be subjected to the pitying glances and facile condolences of the residents of Albany.

And I was almost certain that I couldn’t handle that.

I sighed, looking deep into Angelica’s eyes, her pleading expression. “Fine.” A bright smile erupted on Angelica’s face and she threw her arms around my neck.

“Thank you, Bets,” Angelica said into my hair, and only did I notice that she was crying.

“Of course,” I responded, running my hands over Angelica’s back. I was certain that nothing good would come of this trip, but I was willing to go through with it for my sister’s sake.

My dear older sister, who had always been there when I needed her.

On Sunday, August twenty sixth, eighteen hundred and four, Jamie, Johnny, and William and I went to the Albany Prebyterian Church, making that my official public reappearance.

Despite the black veil over my face, shielding my red eyes from the public, I could feel the stares of the people, and I instinctively held my children’s hands tighter.

“Ma, are you sure we should do this?” Jamie asked, his voice conveying his almost palpable anxiety. 

Instead of agreeing with him— which was how I truly felt— I shook my head. “Everything will be fine, Jamie,” I murmured.

I stood straighter and continued. I was the wife of General Alexander Hamilton— one of the men who made this country— and I would _not_ cower.

As I entered the church, everyone turned to look at me, and I could hear my name whispered, or, in some cases, said as I walked up to a pew.

Just as I had prepared to sit down, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, seeing that it was the Reverend Nott, who smiled kindly at me.

“Mrs. Hamilton. How lovely to see you today.” He peered behind me at Jamie, Johnny, and William. “And you’ve brought your boys.”

“Some of them,” I forced myself to joke, and Nott gave an equally forced laugh. 

“How many children do you have?” Nott asked. “Eight? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Despite the innocence of his words, I was hit with a wave of pain, as I remembered my now dead eldest son.

“No, Reverend. I have seven children.”

Nott’s eyes widened in recognition. “Right. Your eldest…” I winced and he cut off, nodding. “Well, Mrs. Hamilton, I have to begin the service, but I’m glad you’re here and I sincerely hope that this service brings you comfort.”

I watched him walk away, not saying a word. Instead, I opened my Bible, running my hands over the worn pages as the Reverend told us to stand.

There wasn’t anything too extraordinary to the service itself. Surprisingly enough, the service was on how everything the Lord did had reason to it, and that we could do nothing but trust it.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional. 

Nevertheless, I sang the hymns, read the Bible, and tried not to cry.

“Now,” Nott began, beginning to walk back and forth across the front of the room. “We will clasp our hands in prayer.”

“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…” The Reverend spoke, but I had my own prayer.

_Dear God, please, please, reunite me with my Alexander, watch over my children, and give them the best life._

All was silent until someone screamed. I swirled around to see that Jamie— _my_ Jamie— had fallen to the floor.

“Jamie!” I dropped to my knees beside him, grabbing his wrist and searching for a pulse. 

_Please, God, no, no, no. I have already lost one son. Please, don’t take another from me._

I clutched his coat as I had done to Philip’s all those years ago, when a woman gently pulled me back so that two other men could carry Jamie from the Church.

“My son,” I breathed. I wondered if I was going to faint. 

“Mama, what was that?” Johnny asked, holding William to his chest.

“Oh.” I ran to them, holding both of them tightly to me. “Nothing, baby. Nothing.” I pressed a kiss to the top of his head before I ran outside to where Jamie had been laid on the steps.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to do _something, anything._ I hated feeling helpless, but it seemed that was all I was.

Helpless to save Philip, to save Alexander. Now I was helpless to help my son when he desperately needed me.

So, instead, I did all I could: I held his hand and prayed as hard as I could.

“Please, save him,” I begged the nearby Doctor, when, in what must have been a miracle, Jamie’s eyes opened and he groaned. 

“Jamie!” I pulled him to me, sobbing hard as I kissed his cheeks.

“Mama?” He sounded so confused, slowly sitting up. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” a Doctor said. “Now, I have to ask, have you been feeling ill as of late?”

Terror shot through my heart like a bullet, but, to my immense relief, Jamie shook his head. “No, sir. But I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

The Doctor snapped his fingers. “Then that’s it.” He clapped Jamie’s shoulder. “Go on home and take a nap. And apologize to your mother for scaring her half to death.”

Jamie turned to me. “Oh, Ma, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I rested my head on Jamie’s shoulder for a moment, relieved that he was alive and well. “Nonsense. Don’t apologize.” I stood up, Jamie following suit. “Now, let’s go get your brothers and go home.”

As we walked inside, I wondered if I’d done something wrong to warrant all the pain and tragedy in my life.

Only three days later, an article was published in the _Albany Sentinel,_ recounting the chain of events that had happened at Church.

As if I wasn’t already humiliated enough.

As soon as we received a copy of the paper, Angelica threw it into the fireplace. “Ignore it, Eliza,” she advised. “Besides, they insult Burr in it. If anything, this will do more to get Burr indicted, now that they may see the effect of what he’s done.”

I remained silent. While I longed to have Burr indicted, I also hated that my public embarrassment and shame was a factor in it.

“I shouldn’t have gone,” I said.

Angelica exhaled loudly, kissing the top of my head. “I won’t push you again.”

I didn’t say anything, instead closing my eyes and feigning sleep.

“Two gentlemen immediately raised him, and while bearing him out of the church, the afflicted mother sprung forward, in the agonies of grief and despair, towards her apparently lifeless son. The heart-rending scenes she had recently struggled with, called forth all the fine-spun sensibilities of her nature – and seemed to say, that nature must, and will be indulged in her keenest sorrows – She was overpowered in the conflict, and likewise sunk – uttering such heart-rending groans, and inward sighs, as would have melted into mingled sympathies, even Burr himself.”

Excerpt of the _Albany Sentinel,_ 08/29/1804

Before Alexander had died, my son, Alex, was supposed to go to an internship in Boston. But, now that the time was here, I knew that I couldn’t part with him.

“Alex.” I gently pushed open the door to the room him and Jamie were sharing in my father’s home. “Can we talk?”

Alex looked up from his book, setting it aside as he did. “Of course, Ma.” His face scrunched up. “What is it?”

I shut the door behind me, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Alex, you know how you are supposed to go to Boston soon?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

I inhaled shakily, reminding myself to breathe. “How would you like to stay in New York and intern under George Cabot instead?”

Alex bit his lips, clearly thinking over what to say. “Ma, I… I want to go to Boston.”

I looked down at my hands, twisting my wedding band around my finger. “I know. I know, but…” I forced myself to look Alex in the eyes as I spoke. “Alex, I need you here.”

Alex opened and closed his mouth a few times before pinching the bridge of his nose, likely collecting his thoughts.

“Ma, I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” I pointed out, thinking of Philip, who’d had so much promise, so much left to do, but would never get to because of one foolish mistake.

It seemed Alex was thinking of the same thing as his face dropped and he nodded. “If it is really what you think best.”

I felt awful at throwing away my son’s wishes like this, but I wasn’t prepared to lose anyone else, and I wasn’t sure I could go on if I lost another one of my children.

“My Son Alexander, my good Sir, I send to you. You will consult with your friend with whom to have him placed. It is the Opinion of Mr. Higginson that where he should acquire his Mercantile Information, that it would be but for him to reside. I had brought my Mind not without a very painful struggle to consent him going to Boston to be instated in a counting house, but I find I cannot give him up to make that city his place of future residence. Be not surprised at my weakness. I am now _alone.”_

Excerpt of a letter from Elizabeth Hamilton to George Cabot, 09/17/1804

In early October, Angelica, my sister Cornelia, the children and I returned to New York City, where, soon after, Cornelia gave birth to a young girl.

However, despite the joy of a new baby, tragedy would again strike our family when, on November eighteenth, Papa died in Albany.

And, to make things worse, I was forced to take temporary winter lodgings to house my children and I as we couldn’t afford the Grange.

Almost as if purposely mocking me, on December fourteenth, when I opened the newspaper, I was forced to see an advertisement for the sale of my home— the home my dear husband built for us— in the papers for all to see.

And wasn’t that just cruel and unfair?

Although, then again, when was life ever just and fair?

With all of that occurring, I clung to Angelica and her unwavering support more than ever, and I prayed every night for my own death or for some kind— any kind— of good news.

In my darkest hours, I wondered if no one was listening.

Because, if someone was really listening, how would any of this have happened at all?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next chapter should be up by next week. Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. The event with Morris actually happened. Eliza did fall into a SUPER deep depression after Hamilton died and often wished to die and join him.  
> 2\. The event at Church is accurate too. Although, the article just says Eliza’s three young sons. I’m gonna guess that she wouldn’t take a two year old to Church, so that left James, John, and William.  
> 3\. Eliza did actually stay in lodgings during the winter of 1804/1805.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I hope you all have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


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